


Depression Clouds Even the Happiest Moments

by MelanieSkye



Series: Dick and Bipolar II [1]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Bipolar II, Depression, Hypomania, Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, but it's not a cross over, they're discussing harry potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanieSkye/pseuds/MelanieSkye
Summary: After overhearing his siblings debate what memory they would use to conjure their patronus, Dick tried to decide what memory he would use.





	Depression Clouds Even the Happiest Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another little snippet I wrote about Dick dealing with bipolar (as I head canon him as bipolar II). Please pay attention to my tags. I don't want to trigger anyone. :/
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

Dick smiled as he glanced around the Wayne Manor living room at the number of his family members all in one place. Damian was sitting on the floor petting Alfred the cat. Tim and Stephanie stood in a corner, appearing to have a heated debate. Even Jason—who definitely came in through the window given he appeared from nowhere—appeared to be part of the discussion.

“Okay, okay,” Stephanie said. “What memory would you use to summon your Patronus?”

Dick bit back a laugh as he watched both his brothers consider her question. Jason’s face split into a wide grin. “Mine would be the moment when Bruce killed the joker.”

“Jason, it has to be something that actually happened.”

“But I’ve imagined it so many times it feels so real.”

Stephanie made a big show of rolling her eyes and staring at the ceiling. Dick chuckled, shaking his head as he headed out of the family room.

His happiest memory.

What is his happiest memory?

_Flying through the air with his parents. Performing as the Flying Graysons. His circus family. _

_When he set up a surprise birthday party for Tim. Him, Tim, Bruce, Stephanie, Cass, Alfred, Damian. Alfred even made a cake with espresso frosting. Tim had figured it out, of course, but he let them pretend that he was surprised. _

Dick stepped out of the manor, beginning to wander the grounds, letting his perpetual, performative smile fall.

_Bruce, attempting to make him breakfast after patrol one night while Alfred was on vacation. Alfred grumbled about the lingering smell of smoke in his kitchen for days._

_Him and Babs going to a painting with a twist class. Babs threw paint on him whenever he looked away. The instructor half-heartedly scolded both of them. Dick still had that painting._

_The time when, after patrol, all of the bats ended up at Wayne Manor. Alfred had made pizza, and they all stayed up for hours talking and laughing. They told stories and talked about nothing and everything. They all fell asleep there. Cass curled up against Tim who sat on the edge of the couch, head hanging over the back. Stephanie curled up on the couch with her head in Cass’s lap. Even Jason was there, completely stretched out on the love seat, his legs dangling over the side. Bruce crashed in a recliner on the opposite side of the room for Jason. Both Dick and Damian were on the floor by the couch. While asleep Damian had curled up against Dick’s chest. When Dick woke, he was holding Damian, and his head was resting on Stephanie’s legs._

Dick couldn’t consider any of those moments to be his happiest. Each and every one of those moments had a gray tinge that clings to everything in Dick’s life. Something that prevented Dick from ever feeling happy, from ever really seeing the world in the vivid colors that some people claimed existed.

No matter what he did, where he was, or who he was with, the desire to die thrummed in the back of his mind. To let go and crash to the ground. To swerve into oncoming traffic. To not dodge that bullet while on patrol. To jump from the top of a building. Why was he alive? Why did he have to exist?

At some point in his life, he had to have been happy. Right? Before his parents were murdered? Even if he had been...those memories always turned into a reminder of what he lost.

Sometimes the pervasive, desperate need to no longer exist coupled with the desperate need to leap out of his own skin. The need to do something or everything. The laying in bed exhausted, but his whole body and mind felt like they were vibrating. The need to do something—anything—to escape his own skin.

No matter what, no matter how good things were, no matter how happy he should be, he always wanted to die. Sometimes it dug at him, hiding in the background of his mind. Other times it throbbed, a constant reminder as familiar to him as breathing.

“So a dementor would just kill you, Grayson.” Dick let out a low chuckle. “You’d be dead.”

Good.


End file.
